


i'll crawl home to her

by rainonherwindow



Category: Greek and Roman Mythology, Hellenistic Religion & Lore
Genre: But also, F/M, I rise from the depths of radio silence to give you this, hades the velvety baritone playing melancholy acoustic guitar is now a thing, hozier!hades, im not even kidding that's where this came from okay, it's literally just modern au fluff, this was sitting unfinished for like 2 months so just TAKE IT
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-07
Updated: 2019-01-07
Packaged: 2019-10-06 07:55:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17341538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainonherwindow/pseuds/rainonherwindow
Summary: She flopped cross-legged onto the pavement in front of him, close enough to press the toes of her shoes against his. "Sing to me, lover."





	i'll crawl home to her

**Author's Note:**

> will i convert u to this characterisation of hades? hopefully.
> 
> ( pick ur poison:  
> listen - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nH7bjV0Q_44  
> OR  
> listen - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=We-mIWLT5DI )

Summer that year was soft as silk, gentle with a sunshine that sank into the skin like a kiss. The hazy sky seemed somehow to cast everything in a yellow-edged glaze, steeped sweet with the laughter of children playing in the wash of warm gold.

He leant heavy against the sun soaked brick as the breeze danced across his cheeks. It was delicate with the scent of pomegranate and lily, and cool on his pale fingers, curved over his guitar's strings. Plucked notes sang into the perfumed air. His voice was deep and velvety, shaping lyrics with a tenderness ill-befitting the sharp lines of his shirt.

"How are you still wearing a button-down in this weather?"

The chords paused, and he glanced up from the frets, a smile playing over his lips.

She was there, with messy curls tumbling from the haphazard bun atop her head, beaming and radiant in a dirtied green apron. A single asphodel hung carefully in her fingertips, white petals tipped towards the ground, blooming beautiful from her touch.

"You cut off the chorus," he said.

She laughed. "Sorry."

The summer light made her glow, all warm like a drop of sun. Behind her was a sea of flowers climbing abundant from their carefully shelved pots – roses and daffodils, sunflowers and violets, hyacinths and crocuses. Trails of purple wisteria curled from the trellis above her head, as if reaching for her. The array of colour and vine nearly obscured the swirling green letters painted above the shop's front – _Demeter's Garden Nook_.

She flopped cross-legged onto the pavement in front of him, close enough to press the toes of her shoes against his. "Sing to me, lover."

So he did, crooning out a melancholy melody and picking at the strings until they hummed out starlight and bone.

She closed her eyes and let the music blanket her. She wanted to wrap herself in it, melt into it until she was warm and comfortable and safe. It felt like home. The home she missed terribly. It was wonderful up here of course, bathed in the buttery sunlight of summer and wreathed in her mother's nature, but she missed– oh, how she _missed._

After a time, she would miss the dark; miss the dead. The flowers and fields lost their appeal once she craved the touch of her lover's hand. While her soul ached for the balm of his voice, the summer months would continue on, bright as their riches below. It was difficult to be so torn between two worlds. The petals and buds called to the Goddess of Spring, but the beneath beckoned to the Queen of the Dead. As much as her mother liked to pretend she was still _Kore_ , pretend like her kingdom was a burden, Persephone loved the Underworld. She loved her husband.

His song came to an end, embroidered with a gentle lilt that unravelled her insides. Persephone opened her eyes. Hades’s gaze was soft and honeyed on her.

Smiling, she reached forward and tucked the asphodel into his hair. The flower seemed rejuvenated by the spell of his voice – blooming brighter than it ever had in the sun – and framed against his mop of black waves, the white petals looked even paler.

"You'll get caught one day," she said, playing with a lock of his hair. "Can't imagine your brother will be all too happy to find Hades Hades-less."

Her husband lay his guitar to the side and gestured for Persephone to scoot forward between his knees. She did, flipping her legs out so her thighs rested comfortably on top of his. He tangled their fingers together idly.

"What my little brother doesn't know won't hurt him."

It was good here, in this bubble of _them._ He made it easy to be Persephone: there was no expectation, no pre-conceived idea of who she should be – only who she was. It was shelter from a storm, she thought, an island at sea.

"You're pushing your luck," she told him, though her words were fond. "You know my mother would tattle on you in a heartbeat if she found us."

A small smile danced at the corners of his lips. "Lucky for me she hasn't then."

"Incorrigible, that's what you are."

For a moment he made no reply, dark eyes simply drinking in the sight of her. He raised a hand and brushed an errant curl gently behind her ear. "Six months always feels so long," he said at last. "I missed you."

Heart soft, she rested her forehead against her lover's chest and breathed him in deep. Light, musky, faintly sweet with pomegranate – the same as always.

"I missed you too."


End file.
